They are now parents to daughter Cecilia Delphine, 21 months, and son Louis Augustus, 4 months.

Delfino can be found on Twitter @MajandraD.Of course, as it happens with most, when I was first asked to do a baby blog I vacillated from feeling like I had nothing to write about to feeling like I had so much to say. I think that this is what sums up motherhood the best — being torn from one extreme to the other ALL THE DARN TIME!

So get ready because that’s going to be the theme of my blogs in one way or the other. You’ve been warned!

First, let me introduce myself. My name is Majandra Delfino. I was on a beautiful show many years ago called Roswell where I played a spicy teen in love with a handsome alien. At the time I was a spicy teen myself, in love with boys that might as well have been from other planets.
Now, I am on a show called Friends with Better Lives, where I play a mother of two who is married to the love of her life and lives in a sweet Los Angeles suburb. And guess what I’m up to these days? I’m a mother of two, married to the love of my life in a sweet Los Angeles suburb.

My husband David Walton is on a show called About a Boy– and we had a boy-themed year ourselves when he filmed it. The similarities are just adorable. (Disclaimer: the play on words of the title About a Boy could also be in reference to my husband’s character … which could possibly maybe be true in my real life as well?? That’s all I’m going to say on that, m’kay?)

My show hilariously covers all the pitfalls and inconsistencies we young parents encounter on a daily basis. “I love my kid, she’s an angel! Oh my God, I want to kill her, she’s the live version of Chucky!” But in my real life, sometimes these contradicting incidents aren’t worthy of a laugh track or maybe they are — but definitely at my expense.

At the end of the day though, the journey of parenthood truly begins the first moment you see that ol’ pregnancy stick you’ve peed on since your paranoid 20s give you a very different result: positive.

And so began my husband and I’s journey or as I like to call it, “Hi! I’m a private person, but sure complete strangers, come up to me every five seconds and tell me your thoughts on pregnancy!”

From the moment your belly pops (which for me was two seconds after the “positive” pee experience — please see above), you become what I can only guess most people consider “public domain.” That means everyone and I mean EVERYONE has something to say (and feels they MUST say) about how you look, what you’re having, how you’re going to deliver it and then right back to how you look. And what I learned almost every time is that people (even women) are still super down on women …

Let me explain what led to this fantastic realization. When pregnant with my first child, I was incredibly sick and incredibly stressed, trying to renovate my bachelorette-style apartment into a family-friendly dwelling.

Needless to say, there were no visits to Krispy Kreme for a personal bakers dozen or a lovely stroll at the Grove with a giant size Häagen-Dazs malt. I was on the go go go and not a lot of things seemed appetizing on the way. As a result, my belly got huge but the rest of my body stayed the same. And that moment right there is when the woman-bashing began.

How, you ask? It came in the innocent shape of the following comment: “Oh my God, you look so beautiful pregnant!!!! Let me guess, you must be having a boy.”

There it is. A seemingly innocent comment right? But after the 100th time, it really does start to make you wonder. Why would we assume having another girl inside ourselves would make us ugly??

Oh I know! People explained it to me. Get ready. It’s because “girls rob you of your beauty.” WHAT????? Or my personal favorite, the ever so scientific, “It’s the hormones — too much estrogen.” Cool … cuz more testosterone is a real beauty enhancer.

Here’s the truth, we have all kinds of hormones we aren’t used to when we’re pregnant (please see “I was super sick” situation above) and how we look or what our hair does or how we gain weight or where we gain weight can have absolutely nothing to do with it.

I felt like crap, but I supposedly looked good. Who the hell knows why. I certainly can’t tell you why. I can, however, tell you this — I was having a girl.

Still, everywhere I went, people were so adamant that it must be a boy.

It was crazy. Towards the end of my pregnancy it got so nuts, people were yelling “Boy!” at me from across the street. It was terrifying! And weird. But it was so frequent and so intense, my husband and I really started to question whether there really was a girl in there — or just a boy with a very, very unfortunate sized penis.

Regardless, the whole thing got me thinking. What the hell are we saying with that? Are we still down on women to that extent?? We really think having a girl inside us makes us look bad?! That’s just another s—– way of saying we’re something bad … like all the other things we throw a pinch of s——– into describing perfectly normal traits pertaining to girls: bossy, naggy, emasculating and now this doozy!

I always felt like at this point, in our generation, the worst thing you could do for women was talk about the suffering of women. That the only way to achieve equality is to grab it by the balls (ovaries?) and not let them see you coming — and frankly I thought we were doing pretty well so far doing just that. I never in my days thought I’d be making my first blog about something like this.

Strangely enough, during this “it-must-be-a-boy-turns-out-it-was-a-girl-oh-maybe-girls-are-actually-awesome” pregnancy, I had just gotten embroiled in a ridiculous encounter with a woman complaining that her books were never reviewed with the same respect her male contemporaries received. Problem was, her idea of who her male contemporaries were was extremely out of touch. She wrote light novels bordering on shallow and the said contemporaries she spoke of will probably go down as the Steinbecks of our time — and rightfully so, these male authors are insanely talented.

Did she really think she was their equal?? Or was she piggy-backing on something so important as female equality so as to skip a few steps (a.k.a. write better books) to be on their level? The twist though, was that this same woman was incredibly mean to people who didn’t possess her exact body type. She would literally shut someone out and say terrible things about them if they didn’t fit her idea of the proper representation of a woman’s body. How awful is that?

But that all fell in line perfectly with everything I was going through with all these public encounters. Everyone has these set ideas for women — from one extreme to the next — and it sucks. When women should just be focusing on doing what they want to do and doing it well, not wasting their time justifying every aspect of it. I was literally spending my days defending my soon-to-be daughter’s effect on me to everyone I met.

Still, complaining about it gets us nowhere I suppose and I am doing that very thing right here. But I had to share. I had to make this first blog about that should anyone else be experiencing the same head-scratcher I did. I was giving birth to a baby girl with these s—– undertones in our world. The meaning of women’s rights is still all completely jumbled up. From the crazy author lady to the random strangers on the street. It was all such a weird, confused and unnecessary message.

And fine, it’s already there in day-to-day stuff — but when you’re pregnant? We’re tired! Leave us alone! And if you have to talk to us, must you choose a topic that infuses such a s—– message about us to us? And it wasn’t just me — my friend, Meredith Quill, has a website dedicated to the dumb things people say to women when they’re pregnant. Turns out my experience with the girl put-down is very normal. But why?!

I don’t know. I really don’t know.

What I do know is this. After all the “boy” guesses and all those conversations, I gave birth to a healthy 9 lb. girl. No penis. No secret dude in there the whole time. A girl. A girl who made me look like a very cute pregnant woman. A little girl who put those dumb old wives’ theories to rest.

Fast forward to eight months later. I was pregnant again. Having known with the first pregnancy, we decided to not find out the sex with our second. So, blissfully along I went with my second pregnancy not knowing a darn thing about whether there was a girl or a boy in there.

But guess what? It was the same. I still didn’t gain weight in my ass, and I still looked the same way I did the first time. Everywhere I went people would be so sweet and tell me I looked beautiful (and of course that it must be a boy because girls make you look bad and oh my God, my jeans were still tiny!).

So, with that, I knew what I was having. I was the exception to the rule and girls made me “look pretty” — and you know what, I felt kind of badass knowing that. So on with the girl names I went and on with ignoring the barrage of comments.

Didn’t my first pregnancy teach me anything? I was the opposite, all you a-holes! The girl hormone was on my side!!

So, on Nov. 10, armed with that almost scientific insight, I gave birth to my son, Louis Augustus.

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